Mistletoe & Kisses
by GroovyKat
Summary: How can a simple flower end up causing so much trouble?


**Mistletoe & Kisses**

Disclaimer: Do I really need to say that I don't own the Birds? The message is kind of moot, really … :sigh: For the record, no I down own the rights to G-Force … I own a few comics and some pretty cool dolls and stuff, but not the actual rights to the show … damn it. Hey can I buy them on eBay?

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Princess had been looking for him all day. All day. Armed with a delicately small sprig of wild mistletoe hidden coyly behind her back, she lightly padded down the steel and tile corridors of the Research Facility at Centre Neptune in hopes of cornering him somewhere to indulge herself in the simplest of Christmastime traditions.

He, of course, being Mark; the G-Force Commanding Officer and subject of G-Force's Swan daydream fantasies. The tradition being a stolen kiss under the Mistletoe.

This was her only chance and she knew it. Mark was anal-retentive about keeping holiday rituals and traditions alive within his unit and as far across the Federation buildings as possible. He enforced such games as "Secret Santa" and personally involved himself in the planning of any and all Christmas celebrations within the complex. So armed with that, she knew he wouldn't balk at her sneaking up to him with her tiny botanical prize and stealing a kiss from his cheek. In fact, he'd probably smile, blush, and thank her for keeping it alive.

It would be the only time she'd be allowed to get so close to him on an intimate level so she wasn't going to waste what little opportunity she had to do it. But, he was being elusive today. So elusive, in fact, that she'd inadvertently found herself in the only wing of the facility that G-Force members were not permitted to enter without express-written consent from Chief Anderson or Mark.

It didn't immediately dawn on the young woman, who was wearing a festive pair of flannel pyjamas and a green towelling robe, that she was in the wrong area. She had been drawn to the wing by instinct. Instinct for what, exactly, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was the frantic and static pace of the woman in front of her, whose white lab coat and mutterings over a walkie-talkie cell-phone to Mark suggested to Princess that she was on her way to meet him. Perhaps it was an intuitive pursuit. There was obviously something unusual and urgent happening, and chances were that G-Force presence might be warranted.

Who knew?

…Certainly not Princess. Not for sure anyway.

All Princess was sure of was that her mission would end with her lips against the softest part of Mark's face. That's all that really mattered. So she followed. She followed listening to Mark's soft and polite tones over the walkie-talkie. She listened not to his words, which may have warned her against her travels, but only to his voice; to the gentle command; and imagined that voice speaking words of love and affection to her.

Gah, what a terrible romantic she had become since the closure of puberty.

She fell so blindly into her own dreams that she failed to hear the warning from the woman in front to the rest of the department that the wing was now on lockdown, and that the G-Force Commander had ordered an evacuation. She failed to notice the intermittent flashing of a red alarm beacon on the wall beside her. She didn't even see the scurrying of twenty-something Federation scientists into a mass-exodus out of the wing. She did begin to notice, however, at the shudder of the walls and floor as large steel doors dropped behind her to seal the wing shut from the rest of the complex.

Her breath escaped loudly from her chest as she blinked and spun to see what had caused the ground at her feet to shake.

"What the…?"

Reality dawned quickly at the loud chirp of a warning alarm and the red flash of the warning beacons. She flicked her head from side to side in confusion to see if she was the only one inside, and to determine where she was. Her heart nearly fell from her mouth when she realized that not only was she alone, but that she had been sealed inside with no chance of escape.

"Oh no," she whispered with less panic than she felt. "What did I miss?"

She gave her eyes a quick rub with the back of her fist and blinked a few times for clarity. The cold polished steel walls, obvious lack of static in the air, high pressure, and stinking aroma of cordite in the air left no real doubt as to where she had wandered. This was Jason's dreamland; his fantasy outside of racing …

…The Weapons Research Facility.

"Oh Gosh," she managed worriedly as she ran her hand over the top of a loosely tied braid on her head. "Mark is going to kill me."

She quickly stuffed her sprig of Mistletoe into her robe pocket and began a slow and deliberate search of the largest wing in the Neptune compound.

"Hello?" she called softly, wary that she might actually startle someone working on a high explosive. "Is there anyone…?" The chirp from her bracelet broke off her sentence and forced her eyes to drop to her wrist. It flashed in a formal blue and red fashion; the light code of her Commander.

"G-1 to G-3, Princess are you on?"

Her brows knitted together guiltily as she raised the communicator to her lips. "G-3 ears on, Commander," she breathed softly in an attempt not to show just how frightened she was right now.

His words came across with such ease that she knew he didn't know where she was. "We have a situation, Princess. I need your expertise."

"So do I," she responded on a breath intended only for her mind to hear.

"Excuse me?"

Oh, he heard it. She shook herself and tightened the robe around her waist with the hand not hovering in front of her face. "Oh, nothing, Commander." She took a breath and attempted to relax a little as she looked around to see what might be the trouble. "What do you need?"

"Where are you?"

Her lips pursed and her eyes rolled as she answered in her mind a response he probably wouldn't like to hear. Her mouth made do with a naïve sounding "Can't I advise you over the link?"

There was silence from his end; silence that suggested he didn't like the answer she gave. Finally he cleared his throat and adjusted his tone to something less personable. "I need you in the briefing room as soon as possible, Princess. The rest of the team, the Chief, and Weapons techs are here – this can't be done via conference call."

She swallowed hard. "Um …"

"That's an order, Princess," he snapped with much less aggression than he would have shown any of the male members of the team in the same circumstances.

"Mark, I can't." Her voice managed to come out as a whine when she responded to his order, and it was clear to anyone listening that the Swan wasn't being deliberately insubordinate. His voice was laced with concern when he spoke next.

"Princess. Are you okay?"

It was tempting to cry, really. She knew that whatever was happening inside this part of the facility had to be serious; Mark didn't fuck around with lockdown orders. They were a bitch to cancel, and caused hours of lost time and money whenever one was called. The situation directly involved the wing she was currently wandering around in. Explosives had to be involved if he was calling her for assistance.

Explosives crises were rarely pretty, and rarely mild – Especially in this facility.

With a whimper of fear after Mark prodded her again with the same question laced with far more worry than a Commander should show one of his team she finally answered.

"No."

The single word answer caused a sharp gasp of concern from Mark. "Princess, what's wrong, where are you?"

Her whole face contorted almost painfully into a look of desperation as her wandering brought her into a room that was far hotter than any room full of electronics and explosives should be. "Mark. Don't be mad."

"I'm more worried than mad, Princess." He said quickly. "Tell me where you are, I'm coming."

Coming he was. She could hear the waver in his voice as his feet marched through the administrative wing of the complex. She knew it was the Administrative section; the acoustics were fairly location specific for this building.

"Mark," she said softly as she slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of the mainframe unit of the explosives lab. "Promise me you won't get mad."

"Just tell me you're okay, Princess, and I'll promise you I won't get mad."

"I'm okay," she answered quickly, but distractedly, as she let her eyes scan over the temperature readings of the lab. Her breath hitched as she saw that the readings were in the read. "For now …"

The final afterthought of her response made the young Commander halt in his march along the corridor.

"What does that mean, Princess?" He asked quietly. "Where are you?"

Her fingertip tapped at the temperature gauge as if to tease it into changing the reading. "I'm locked in, Mark," she replied distractedly as she let her eyes sweep around the room to assess the potential disaster. "And it's hot in here."

Her response gave Mark the answer he needed. His voice softened as he sought confirmation of his realization. "Please tell me you aren't in weapons."

"I don't want to lie to you, Commander."

"No," he breathed. "Because you would never lie to me."

"I try not to."

"How did you end up in there?" His voice was calm, but obviously disappointed.

"I wish I had a real answer for you, Mark," she sighed. "But I don't have one even for myself right now." She ran her fingers along the wall as she walked the perimeter. "Are you mad?"

"As I said earlier, I'm worried not mad."

"Worry more about the integrity of this structure when this stuff blows than about me, Commander," she advised gently as her eyes locked onto a large missile against the wall.

"I'm not Mark if I don't worry about you," he responded wistfully. "It's instinct."

She smiled at the comment. "Ditto."

His walk had obviously ended at the end of the Admin corridor, as his footsteps were less audible. Instead of echoed footsteps, the noise behind his transmission was computerized. She surmised that he was now in the communications room.

"Explosives, Mark," she advised softly knowing that he would be looking for a video link up with her. "There is an LCD monitor in here that won't create any more heat in this room."

"How bad is it?" He asked as he leaned over his console to activate the link between the comms room and explosives lab. "On a scale of 1 – 10."

Her face and eyes raised to the large LCD monitor as she heard the soft click of it tuning in to Mark's link. To see his worried face looking through the screen at her added a shot of guilt to her already symphonic set of emotions. "15," she answered with a shy tilt of her head.

"God, Prin," he breathed as he took in her image through the small camera. "You didn't go down there intentionally did you?"

Her brow flicked before she glanced down at her current attire. She was in her pyjamas, slippers, and robe with only her communicator on her wrist to suggest she was, in fact, a member of the G-Force team. Being out of civilian uniform meant that she would be unable to transmute into bird style – the only protection she may have against the shockwave and shrapnel of an exploding room.

Her breath left her lungs with a rattle as her head slowly rose back to Mark's image. "I … I was looking for you, actually."

"I'm rarely in this section, Princess. I have no need to be."

Her shoulder tipped upward to her ear. "I know. I don't know how I ended up here, honestly. I was walking, thinking, then suddenly I'm all alone inside a lockdown."

"I'll get you out of there."

She shook her head. "You can't – Not safely anyway."

"I have to try."

"And risk everyone's lives?" she said on an inhale as she wrapped her arms around herself. "You can't."

"There has to be a code to break the lockdown."

She gave a short laugh and closed her eyes tightly to ward off the sting of tears. "It was designed not to have an override, you know that."

"This is not how we lose you," he countered with a soft voice.

She nodded. "Yes it is, Mark."

"I'll figure something out. Just get as far away from anything explosive that you can."

Her eyes opened slowly as her lips drew into a sad smile. "Even if I survive an explosion, Mark, I'll be killed by the water pressure. We're a mile below the surface here, I'll be crushed." She rested her hand atop the missile beside her and stroked it in an almost loving manner. "No. I'll take my chances with the big boy here. It's fitting, you know."

"No I don't know," he countered in a voice that held a hint of frustration.

"I'm the explosives tech on the team, Mark. It makes sense that it's an explosive that …"

"No," he demanded as his fist hit the counter. "Don't talk like that. I will not lose you to a damned bomb gone wrong inside this facility."

"It's not the bomb's fault," she muttered through pursed lips in defence of the weapon. "Someone in I.T. did something to the server. It's what's talking to the weapon right now."

Mark's face all but lit up at her comment. "It's a technical glitch?" The unspoken hope was that something technical could be easily fixed.

She nodded and flicked her eyes to his image on the monitor. "This room's hotter than the Chief's sauna. This weapon was designed to detonate under extreme heat once armed and the lab's climate is carefully controlled to not exceed a certain temperature for that reason. This room is now at 50 degrees and increasing incrementally, it's already 25 over the set temperature."

"Sabotage?" he questioned cautiously.

Her lips pursed and she shook her head. "I don't want to make assumptions like that."

"But I will," he growled long.

"Don't," she said quickly. "Don't be like that right now." Her voice softened. "This could be the last conversation we have, I don't want it to be like this."

He blinked and shook his head slowly. "What do you want to talk about?"

Her brow flicked at how easily he gave in to it. "Oh ye of little faith," she murmured as she crouched in front of the missile and drew her fingertip along a thin metal plate engraved with the explosive specs.

His face dropped so that he regarded her through his brows. "Which means?"

"Which means I need to see if there is some way I can save myself so that I can accomplish the mission I set out for myself this morning."

"Mission?"

Her lips quirked into a smile. "Personal mission, Commander."

"Did it involve Mistletoe?" he asked softly.

Her eyes shot to the monitor. "How did you know that?"

He winked. "I'm intuitive."

"Really?" Her tone was doubtful, borderline facetious.

His chin jutted in an attempt to sway her attention to the floor. "It fell out of your pocket."

She looked down at the sprig lying on the floor beside her and blushed a little as she pocketed the fragile little bloom. "Ahh, yeah."

He watched her in silence for a moment as she crawled along the floor to retrieve a small, discarded wiring and tool kit. Pride in his third swelled inside his chest as he watched her refuse to give in to the situation at hand.

"You know," he began gently as she pulled a small screwdriver from the kit to open the control panel to the missile. "You didn't need to bring Mistletoe if you wanted a kiss, Princess."

She let out a quick chuckle, but kept her attention to the job at hand. "You're good at this, aren't you?"

"At what?"

She undid the first screw and set it carefully on the floor before moving on to the next. "At knowing exactly what I want you to say to me before I die."

"You say that like you think I'm just humouring you."

Her head nodded gently as she pressed the tip of the screwdriver into the third of four screws. "I do appreciate it, though, Mark. Just slip in there that you love me and I'll die happy."

"_When_ I tell you I love you, Princess, it won't be because you're going to die on me." He made sure to pause either side of _I love you._

She smiled as she raised her head to look at him. "When." The word was a statement with only a whisper of question – enough to let him know she understood what was behind the words. "That's almost as good as a straight out declaration, Mark. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he asked softly.

She smirked and gingerly removed the aluminium plate from the weapon. "Because it lessens it, right?"

He nodded as he watched her slip the robe off her shoulders to leave her with only a thin, red, tight tank top as protection against the danger. "How does it look?"

"Straight back to business," she chuckled as she fanned her hand in front of her face against the heat.

"I'm not good at this," he admitted gently. "Duty is always my saviour."

She blinked against sweat and leaned over the weapon console. "So are you telling me you're having problems with emotion?" Her eyes raised mischievously to the monitor. "Mr. Emotion himself?"

"Not emotion, Princess."

"Then what?" she questioned with a shrug. "Self doubt as to whether or not someone could feel the same for you?"

He shook his head gently. "No. Feelings and reciprocation I have no issue with, it's being able to express the words that I have in my head." He took a breath. "It doesn't feel natural for me to talk about it – I'd rather show you physically how I feel."

"You mean sex," she replied flatly as she set the screwdriver into her braid and grunted to call extra strength to lift the enamel cover off the missile.

"I mean making love, Princess," he corrected. "Affection, kisses, massages, the physical part of love that is more than sticking part "A" into slot "B" for a fast kick."

She snorted at the response, and the irritated manner with which he corrected her. "So to you physical is more important than you telling me … or whoever it is how you feel."

"Words mean nothing, Prin."

Her brow flicked and her eyes slid to the monitor to give him an innocent, yet curious glance. "This from the man who is always making speeches?"

His head tilted and he let out a long breath. "I can say "I love you" over and over until you can stand my voice no longer. I can declare lust, worship and devotion to you, to Jason, to the damn cafeteria attendant." He took a breath and let the tip of his tongue sweep across his top lip. "But does it mean as much as me touching and caressing your face as I look into your eyes, or claim you with a desperate kiss as I press you into my mattress to use my body to show you how deeply I feel?"

Her lips pursed and kissed absently at the air as she looked down at her shoulder at the rise of goose bumps his words had caused. "Wow, Mark. I thought you said you weren't good with words."

"I said I didn't feel comfortable with words."

She shuddered. "But you're good with them."

He smiled in response and folded his arms across his chest. "Zark's looking in to getting you out of there."

"Change of subject again," she sighed. "Well, I'll play along with you, then." She gently slipped her finger underneath a red wire and watched where it connected. "It looks like I won't be able to totally disarm this entire thing in time to save myself, but I can do enough to lessen the potential damage to the entire complex when it does blow." She dug through the small kit to find a pair of wire cutters. "I take it you're multi-tasking in there while trying to talk me through my potential demise?"

He nodded. "Autonomy is a wonderful thing, Princess. I've communicated this situation with Zark and the Chief while we've been talking."

She smiled. "And here you and Jason were complaining about having to take touch-typing classes last year."

"Jason's still pissed off he only got a C in the module even after sleeping with the instructor."

She chuckled and made the first of her cuts. "Sex. He loves it, doesn't he?"

"Don't you?"

Her shoulder tilted ashamedly to her ear. "I've, um, never …" She cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment. "Uh, not on a voluntary … Uhm.."

The partial admittance caused the young Commander to narrow his gaze. "Did someone hurt you, Princess?"

She blinked as she recalled the incident, and shook her head to clear her mind. "It's part of the job, Commander. One of the pitfalls of being the team female."

His voice lowered an octave. "Excuse me?"

She made a second cut. "Let's change the subject, Mark."

"No."

"Please?" Her voice was desperate.

"Who told you that it was part of the job? Anderson?"

She shook her head and wiped at her brow with the back of her hand. "No not Anderson, he doesn't know. Can we please not talk about this? Can we go back to love and affection, or even duty?"

"President Kane," he growled finally. "Only he could say something like that. When, Princess?"

"Please." Her voice begged. "Mark. Please."

He slowly closed his eyes and let out a long, accommodating breath. "When we get you out of there, and you come back to me. I promise you that I will show you what it feels like to be loved, how wonderful it can be."

She sniffed. "Don't make a promise you can't keep, Mark, just in case I actually do managed to find a Christmas miracle and get out of here."

"It's a promise I intend to keep, Prin," he assured her genuinely. "If I could do it right this second I would."

She closed her eyes over a tear and nodded. "And I'd let you."

"I don't want to go through the rest of my life not knowing what it's like to make love to you."

She laughed through her tears. "That's corny, Mark, but it's perfect."

"I do love you," he admitted softly. "I want you to know that."

She nodded and made her final cut. "I know, Mark. I just … I just needed to hear it from you, not Jason, not Tiny, not even Anderson." She looked up at him and let the clippers fall to the floor at her feet. "I wish we could have had at least one moment, you know. Just once I wanted to press my lips even just against your cheek – just to know what it felt like."

"Against my mouth would be far more wonderful, Princess," he said with a wavering voice. "Because then I could respond with more than just a blush and a smile."

She brought her fists to her mouth and let her back slide down the side of the missile so that she ended up sitting on the warm metal floor. Her knees were bent, but not brought up to her chin, and were splayed in an innocent, awkward manner in front of her. "Why did we wait until now, Mark? Why couldn't we have admitted this to each other long ago?"

"I don't know," he whispered gently. "I guess I just thought we had time."

"We wasted time," she said softly over the top of her knuckles. "And now I sit here staring at death with my dream so close." She reached out her arms to him in an attempt to accentuate her words. "But it's so far out of my reach." She let her arms fall beside her. "Tell me you love me, again, Mark.

"I love you, Princess."

"Again," she asked as she closed her eyes and rested her head against the missile.

"I love you, Princess."

"Again."

"I love you – with everything I am."

His last words made her suddenly lurch forward and hug herself as a sob shuddered through her tiny form. "God. I can't do this. I'm not ready, yet."

He wanted to reassure her that help was coming, but he couldn't lie to her. "Sweetheart, let's work together on this. Together I'm sure we can think of something."

"I've done all I can do," she whined softly. "I've taken offline anything that I can to save the rest of the facility, but the main charge control is damaged because of the heat, I can't do anything about it." She slid her eyes to one side, not ready to let him see her red-rimmed eyes. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"The techs already said there was no hope. That's why we locked down that wing."

She nodded and took a long breath. "Then can we spend my final moments just talking?"

"Whatever you need, Princess."

'Tell me what it's like," she asked gently, finally bringing her eyes to look at him. "Tell me what it feels like to make love."

He smiled ruefully in reply. "I don't know, Princess. I've never, either."

She blinked and gasped in shock. "What? But I thought you and Jason had …"

"Jason and I?" He questioned in horror. "Prin, honey, I'm not gay."

"Oh no, no," she said on a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. "I didn't mean you two – together. I meant that you and he played the field."

Mark leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his arms at the wrists to let his fingers dangle in the space between his chest and the console. He drew in a long breath and looked directly up at the camera to allow her to see the absolute honesty in his eyes.

"Sex. Sex is just biology, Princess. It's not intimate; it's not love or passion. By itself it's just a hollow release of energy that is as effective as masturbation."

Her brows rose. "Uhuh?"

"There's no purpose for playing the field and being a dog. It might be cheaper than seeking the services of a prostitute, but picking up a blonde in a bar for a one nighter isn't any different."

"That's. That's not a definition I've ever heard, but you make sense – in a weird, wowzer kind of way."

His face didn't break into a smile at her comment, which indicated to her that whatever he was saying came from his heart and was genuine, rather than a strange excuse for not getting any.

"Princess. In my mind, and to be honest with you, sex without love is pointless. I don't see why I should waste my affections on someone I don't know, when it's much less intrusive or public than laying on my own bed, in my own home, releasing the pressure when my thoughts of you get too much to ignore."

She cleared her throat and reddened a little. "That's quite an admission, there, Mark. Um, perhaps somewhat TMI …"

"Masturbation is biological, Princess. I'm fairly positive you've practiced self-exploration more than once."

She reddened further, dropped her head and looked to the side shyly. "Training with you, and sometimes being so close to you that I can … um … feel you …is … is difficult."

"I know," he agreed softly. "When we were in our last mission, when we fell and I landed on top of you, I thought it would be the end of me."

"I though it was strange that you ran your hand down the length of my thigh before you pulled yourself from between my legs. I thought you were checking me for wounds."

He actually laughed. "In any other moment, Prin…." He let the comment linger between them for a moment then finished his thought. "If it wasn't for the five goons running us down and the imminent threat of one of your charges going off, I may have propositioned you there and then."

"In hindsight," she teased softly. "Maybe you should have. The charge would've ensured that the Earth would have moved for us."

"Indeed," he smiled before casting his eyes to another communications screen in the room. "Though, even without your explosives I'm sure it would."

She smiled and set her hands behind her head. Her tears weren't quite dry, but they were holding off for the moment. "I don't want to say goodbye yet, Mark. There's so much I still have to do, to experience."

"I know, Sweetheart."

"I want my first kiss. To be made love to. To go to a Prom." She shrugged and let a smile play on the corner of her mouth. "To sneak into the bathroom and peek on you naked."

His attention on the other monitor and the keyboard at his fingertips was momentarily lost after her comment. "You want to see me naked?"

She blushed and lowered her gaze to the clippers on the floor. "It's on my "to do" list."

"It's nothing spectacular."

"Isn't that my call to make?"

He nodded and bit on his lip. "Uh, okay."

The way with which he answered made her look back up at the screen. She let out a sharp gasp when she saw him pull his shirt up over his head.

"Mark!" she gasped as her hands flew to her mouth. "What are you doing?"

His returning look was one of absolute innocence. "You said you wanted to see me."

"I did, I do, I, oh." She covered her eyes with both hands and peeked at him through the spaces between his fingers. "I didn't mean that …"

His laugh was genuine. "Okay, Princess, you can open your eyes now, I put my shirt back on."

She cautiously splayed her fingers to peek and get confirmation of this and then smiled as she dropped her hands into her lap. "Why did you go and do that?"

"What?" he smirked as his attention once again divided between Princess and the rescue planning. "Get dressed?"

"No," she giggled. "Get undressed."

"I wanted to give you what you wanted," he said with a coy slide of his eyes. "I can't kiss you. I can't make love to you, I can't even hold you…"

"So getting all naked is your answer to the dilemma?"

"It's the best I can do given the circumstance…." His word trailed off as he completely took his attention off her and focused on the monitors to the rest of the facility. "No. No."

Princess heard the horror in his tone and immediately sat up as if to rise to attention. "What's wrong, Commander?"

He held his hand up to ask her to give him a moment and rased his other wrist to his mouth. "G-1 to Security Chief Anderson, Chief respond."

Anderson was quick to answer. "Go ahead Commander."

"You need to cancel the detachment order."

"Impossible, Commander. The technicians in weapons have informed me that when that warhead goes off this entire base will be crippled. We have no choice." Anderson's voice was flat, bland, devoid of emotion.

"But, Chief. Princess is in there."

There was silence for a brief moment, with the only sound being a drawn in breath from the project leader. Finally he answered, and when he did, his voice contained a sliver of emotion. "I'm sorry, Commander. We have no choice."

"Just give us some more time, please."

"We can't. We have 500 souls in here. I can't risk them."

Mark's voice wavered. "But the most important one is alone babysitting a warhead."

"I'm sorry, Mark."

He pleaded in a manner that was completely out of character for the G-Force Commander. "Just five minutes, Chief. Give us a chance to save her."

"You've already had forty-five minutes. Zark can't come up with any strategy for rescue, tactical has no clue, and it's obvious that you and your third are unable to think of anything."

"Please."

Anderson's voice was genuinely remorseful. "Say your goodbyes, Mark. Tell her how you feel. I'm sorry."

Mark dropped his head into his hands and clutched painfully at his hair. "No. No. Not now, not like this."

Princess watched her Commander's horror with teary eyes. She felt the same as he. She was scared, terrified of what would happen to her, how death would feel. While she wanted to throw herself to the camera and beg for them not to let her die, she knew it was inevitable and that it would be unfair to put Mark through that.

She let out a long breath through her teeth that gave a soft "shhhh" sound and drew herself off the floor to approach the monitor.

"Mark. Mark, love. Please don't cry."

He shook his head, still in his hands. "There has to be something we can do, Princess. I'm not ready to say goodbye to you yet."

"Look at me, Mark," she pleaded as she stopped in front of the monitor and reached up to touch his image. "Please, Mark. I want my last memory of you smiling, not crying."

He slowly pulled his head from his hands and turned to his own monitor. He took a sharp breath at her image being so large on his screen and tilted his head at her. "And I want mine to be of you in my arms, not like this – so close, but so far away."

She smiled and shook her head gently as she ran the back of her fingers down his cheek on the monitor. "Close your eyes, Mark. Close your eyes and feel my touch."

As his breath sucked into his chest, Mark's eyes closed. As if sensing her touch on his face, his brows knitted together and his head tilted into her. "Will you wait for me, Princess?"

Her thumb traced the outline of his lips. She hiccuped when she saw his lips purse as if to kiss it. "For eternity, Mark. I promise."

He sniffed hard. "I'll be with you sooner than eternity, Princess."

"Not too soon," she breathed in a smile. "You have so much good to do here."

His eyes opened slowly and he stared deeply into the eyes of her image. "That means nothing to me without you here."

"My spirit always will be." She sniffed and clenched her eyes shut as she heard a warning bell for the detachment of the remaining sections of the base from hers. "As I die by the flame shall I be reborn of the flame," she sang softly. "Listen for the call of the swan inside of the Firebird's cry, Mark."

"I love you, Princess."

She stumbled as the ground shook beneath her feet, her warning that the two parts of the base were separating. "Good bye, Mark. I love you, I always will."

She watched his eyes flash a horrified blue as the connections between them began to falter.

"Princess!"

She pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss. "Goodbye, Mark."

Behind her the missile started a warning sequence that it would detonate inside of one minute. She smiled, opened her arms and leaned her head backward as if to welcome the shockwave that would be her death.

She smiled thinking of her last conversation with the only man she'd ever loved. Slowly her head nodded.

"I think I'm ready to die now."

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Princess didn't know if it was entirely appropriate for her to be standing in a crucifix position as she awaited her demise. Crucifixion was the end to a king; a martyr for all of mankind – if you were so inclined to be of a Christian faith – which she wasn't. So was it right, then, that she take this pose to allow herself to be taken by the imminent explosion?

Scientific and rational thought told her that the fastest and guaranteed instant demise would come from this position. It would allow her to be completely and openly engulfed by the shockwave. Taking up a cowardly or penitent position may just prolong the inevitable and leave her in a state of agony before death.

It didn't immediately dawn on the young woman that she had an awful long time to be contemplating such trivial matters. She didn't let herself count off the final seconds of life. To her, having her mind in contemplation of analysis was the way to end things; rather than finish life by verbalizing or thinking the very first words she ever uttered in her young life.

However fitting an end that may be …

"Start with one, end with one," she intoned softly as she allowed her eyes to flutter open in exact synchronicity as the failing lights above her head.

Failing lights, shut down of power, abrupt disconnection from Centre Neptune, a cool whisper of stale air …

He eyes flashed open.

Cool?

Her head dropped down long before her arms followed suit. Across her sweated and bare arms she felt the slightest tingle of cold. A droplet of sweat on her brow rolled down the bridge of her nose and fell from the tip onto her damp tank; the moistened trail cool as if kissed by cooling air.

She spun to the missile and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Her resignation to death was replaced with a new excitement for life when she saw the red-lighted display flashing the number 37.

37 was now officially her new favourite number.

She allowed herself to shudder in the new cool of the room. She couldn't help but smile and enjoy the rapidly falling coldness. Part of her looked to the ceiling for snowflakes as the other half quickly analysed just how long it might take for her to actually become in danger of freezing. She was in Antarctic Waters right now, their last mission having been in the southernmost part of the planet only a handful of hours ago, so the sudden dip in temperature would no doubt give her the snowflakes that her Christmas mind was hoping to see.

That was not a good prospect to the scientific half of her. A slow and painful demise at the hands of madam Hypothermia was not, exactly, a fitting end to the G-Force Swan. For a moment she allowed herself to curse the current situation and request the Gods follow the original plan and obliterate her with a massive explosion.

She sank to the floor and let out a long moan that grew louder, with punctuation, as she slowly crawled along the floor to retrieve her robe. She shuffled toward the missile as she slipped the robe over her shoulders, finally sitting against it. She splayed her legs in front of her in a most unladylike position and folded her arms across her chest as she slouched back against the giant warhead.

"This day gets better and better, doesn't it?" she moaned as her thumbnail found its way into her mouth. She bit down hard on it with a curled lip as she snorted a long and displeased breath. "Better and better."

The missile behind her seemed to move, which send her arms flailing either side of her to keep her balance.

"What the Hell?!" She looked around with a frown and pressed her hands into the mezzanine-finish flooring. "Yeah," she hissed to obviously noone. "So what if I swore? I'm allowed to." She grunted in exertion as she slowly tugged herself to a stand inside a room that still seemed to be moving. "Fuck! There, I said it. The big one!"

It was easier for her to pull a juvenile attitude more appropriate for Keyop than to actually try to assess or analyse what was currently happening to make her so less sure-footed than she usually was. Swearing seemed to work for Jason, and to a much, much lesser degree, Mark, so perhaps it would give her the same kind of ….

Hang on.

Movement?

Her brow creased in contemplation. The rooms around her had been grinding and quivering much too long for it to be a shift in the missile or even an oceanic earthquake – which, of course rarely occurred in this part of the world. No. It had to be something else.

The "something else" her mind slipped into the equation made her smile. Her smile brightened when she felt her feet press hard into the floor as if on an elevator "going up".

She actually gave a brief skip and squeal of victory. The jettisoned part of the Centre Neptune facility was on its way to the surface.

She just. Might. Make it!

She raised her communicator to her lips and inhaled a deep breath to call out for her Commander, then realized that wasn't a good idea. She just might not make it – depressurisation and all that.

She cleared her throat, pursed her lips to one side and held on to her pessimism for long enough to pick the appropriate contact at Centre Neptune.

"G-3 to Centre Neptune. Zark, are you listening?"

The response from the Watchdog of the G-Force project was swift and laced with a tin-can rattle of concern.

"Princess! Oh my, the Commander is so worried about you."

The side of her mouth curled up into rude smirk. "You mean that he thinks I'm dead."

"I keep telling him that you'll escape this, Princess. Noone dies. Noone."

"I'll let you believe that, Zark, conversely I want Mark to believe my fate is sealed."

If 7-Zark-7 was capable of coughing, Princess was sure he'd be faking one right now. He appeared to make do with expressing is distaste in her request by being silent for a long few seconds. When he finally spoke, his mechanical voice actually sounded flat.

"You want me to lie to the Commander and make him think you're dead?"

"Are you capable of lying?" she questioned without missing a beat.

"No. I'm not programmed for deceit, Princess."

"If I say pretty please?"

He almost sighed at her – as much as a robot would be capable. "If it's not in my programming, Princess, I really can't help you."

She moaned and stomped her foot on the floor much like a brat in the throes of a tantrum. "But I can't put him through losing me twice."

"Twice?" he questioned flatly. "Your new circumstance is dire?"

"New?" She moaned. "Zark, this is the same circumstance, and the danger has not decreased any."

"But there has been no explosion. I see nothing on my monitors to suggest that …"

"Okay," she conceded in interruption. "The bomb is, at the moment, in a neutral state. That doesn't exactly change whether or not I am going to survive this – in fact, it pretty much assures that my death will not be swift and explosive, instead it will be slow and very, very cold."

"That doesn't sound very good."

"Oh, really?" she grunted in a truly Condorific gravely manner. "Which is exactly why I don't need you to contact Mark right now. I have some logistics to go through before I can estimate what is going to happen with the rest of my life, and I need your help to work through it."

"Okay, Princess. I'll help in whichever way I can, but I won't lie for you."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "You can't."

"But I may be able to give them the – oh what does Jason call it – the run around for a while."

"You can do that?"

There was a hint of a smile in his voice. "Just be careful what information you give me, Princess. If they don't outright ask me questions that I would need to lie for, I may be able to limit the information I give."

"That's good enough for me," she sighed.

"So where do we start?"

She had to smile at the way he asked that question; it was almost as if she was working with a human being ready to spend a long night analysing information, drinking coffee, and ordering Chinese Takeout.

"First, Zark," she began with a smile as she tightened the robe around her and approached the missile again. "Do you have a homing beacon on this thing."

"I have you on radar, Princess, but we never intended on losing part of the building to need to trace it."

"Don't be a smartass."

"If I knew what that was, Princess, I assure you I would do my best to comply."

She smirked. "I need to know my rate of ascent, where I am, and if you are able to control depressurisation remotely."

Zark was silent only for long enough for him to tap in some commands to his control centre. "Rate of ascent to the surface is slow, Princess. Although you're basically inside a steel balloon, the equalized pressure is keeping you fairly stable with your depth. I can try to control depressurisation enough that I can inflate the side floaters and get you safely to the surface." He paused as if looking at more information. "It's risky, Princess, but we can try it."

"Will I get a lot of ear-popping?"

He almost seemed to chuckle. "You kids always carry gum with you, don't you?"

She patted her pockets and found a single stick of Juicy-Fruit gum. There was a definite smile in her tone when she answered him. "Sure do."

"Your location is 66º24'20.80" S and 131º39'18.08E, drifting slowly North."

"Off the Antarctic Shelf, then?"

"For another hour, perhaps, if you maintain the current heading."

She began to pace the floor as she considered the journey ahead. "Tell me a decent time frame, Zark. If you want to get me out of here alive … I'm about a mile down, yes?"

"Two, actually."

"Safe rate of ascent is what; 15metres per minute?"

"At least someone remained awake during diving classes," he intoned blandly. "If you were scuba diving, yes. However, I will be equalizing pressure from my station here as you ascend. It will still be slow, but nowhere near as long for you. No doubt you're feeling somewhat chilled."

"Put it this way," she remarked as she pulled her robe tighter around her. "Jason would be in a playboy fantasy if he were watching me over any form on communications link."

"I don't understand what that means, but I assume it means that it's cold."

"Yes."

"I can't do anything about that, Princess. Your warhead is unstable and likely to detonate if I increase the temperature. You'll have to find something in here to keep your core body temperature stable."

"Then we can't bring it to the surface, Zark. We can't risk any rise in temperature. This room's temperature will change as we rise to the surface."

"That's true," he muttered as if slightly distracted. "My calculations suggest that you're climate will rise quite substantially and quickly once we begin ascension procedure."

"Fuck," she replied under her breath. "What do I do?"

"That call is yours, Princess," he answered in what sounded as a sigh. "You and I know what Chief Anderson would suggest."

"Yes," she sighed sadly. "Self sacrifice for the greater good. Zark, I'm so close here. I've been teased with possibilities and glimmers of hope. I'm not ready to just pack it all in."

"We could try to send in the Phoenix. Tiny can ram the exterior, then before complete depressurisation you could get safely on board."

"Ahh. Maybe in the cartoons, Zark. This is real life. The explosive depressurisation would explode my ears, and likely my head. I wouldn't survive it at all."

"It's worth a try. Give Mark a chance."

She breathed softly for a long moment, watching her steamy breath wisp in front of her face in contemplation. Either way it looked like her fate was sealed. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surface of the wounded warhead. "Zark, are the garbage airlocks still functional?" she asked in a soft, detached voice.

"Affirmative, Princess. What did you have in mind?"

The answer, to her, was fairly obvious, but she answered as though it was not the most stupid question on Earth. "If I can get this warhead into the airlock, eject it into the ocean, then the pressure would implode the unit, rendering it completely harmless."

"With that level of pressure, even if the warhead was to fall into the centre of the earth, it would be unable to explode."

"Exactly."

There seemed to be an edge to his voice. "Are you able to move it?"

Now she could smile. "It's on it's own dolly, Zark."

"Good. You get it into position and let me do the rest. Once you have the weapon in the hold, back as far away from the portal as you can."

She let out a long yawn and looked at the time on her watch as she gripped tight onto the handles of the dolly and slowly pushed the weapon to the airlocks. It was 5am Christmas Day. No doubt Keyop would soon be rising to see what Santa had left under the tree.

The thought of him excitedly opening his gifts made her smile. She punched at the red button to lock the airlock doors over the warhead and spoke into her communicator as she wandered toward the locker room, where she knew she could find something a little warmer for her to pull onto her shoulders.

"Zark," she called through a yawn. "I'm all set now."

"Tired, Princess?"

"Yeah."

"Don't go to sleep," he warned. "Do whatever you can to stay awake."

She nodded and covered her mouth delicately as she yawned again. "I know, I know. It's my body warning me I'm … I'm tired, Zark."

"Stay awake, Princess."

She nodded and found a pile of dirty labcoats. "I will," she sighed as she snuggled her face into the hard linen. "Just bring me home, Zark."

"Ascension beginning now, Princess."

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She was vaguely aware of voices around her. It sounded as though the voices were a fair distance away from her, although by the conversation it was clear they were at her side. Feather touches on her skin confirmed this.

"_How is she, Sergeant?"_

"_Non responsive, Sir, but she's alive."_

"_What's her prognosis?"_

There was a definite chuckle, one of a young man, one that was close to her ear.

"_Looks like the Commander might be on Santa's good boy list."_

"_I didn't ask if Mark was going to get gifts or coal this year, I asked if she was going to make it."_

"_Depends."_

"_On what?"_

"_If I'm allowed to crawl into a sleeping bag with her naked."_

That made her smile. Inside her own haze she actually exhaled a laugh through her nose. She swept her tongue along her dry upper lip and smacked her lips together.

"I'm not hypothermic, gentlemen," she whispered as she let her eyelids flutter into openness.

The young man beside her expelled a faux whine. "Aww, take away all of my fun will you?"

She blinked slowly to clear her vision and rolled her head to the side to smile up at her suitor. "Nice try, though. Jason – the Condor – tried that once too. Mark near killed him."

"Jealous boyfriend your commander?"

The question made her chuckle. She slowly pushed her hands into the floor to lift herself into a seated position. "I'll let you know when I can convince him that I'm a great girlfriend."

He fixed a blood pressure cuff to her upper arm and stuck a small thermometer into her mouth. "Still working on that are you?"

She nodded.

"Well. Maybe this will be his wake-up call."

She grit her teeth at the tightness of the cuff on her arm and nodded. "That's what I thought after the flowers."

The one who was obviously the superior officer of the unit finally broke the conversation with a loud grunt. "So how are you feeling, Swan?"

She cast her gaze upward and offered a smile. "Refreshed, actually." She turned her head to nod thanks to the medic as he removed the cuff from her arm and the thermometer from her mouth, then carefully drew herself to a stand and extended her arm. "And please, call me Princess."

The officer looked down his large nose at her, released one of his arms from the folded position across his chest and took her hand to give it a firm, but friendly shake. "Commander Jenkins of the United State Marine Corps. We caught your transmission between your commander, and then the robot, and figured you could do with some help."

She smiled and looked to the floor shyly. "Seems like I make a pretty effective damsel in distress, don't I?"

The medic chuckled beside her. His youthful twenty-something eyes gave her a wink. "It helps when you're cute."

Jenkins grunted. "Sergeant, you're dismissed if you can tell me our damsel is not required to visit med."

The young medic looked down at Princess and gave her a friendly wink. "What do you think?"

She smiled and lowered her head shyly. "I'm fine, really. I just want to step into something warmer than my PJ's and get home to my team."

Jenkins gave a curt nod. "Sergeant Weston, here can get you a pair of Navy coveralls from the supply store." His lips pursed and he pulled the fold of his arms tighter to his chest. "We have the navigation and sonar teams tracking your research facility, but with it moving away as quickly as it is, it might take us a while to reach it."

She nodded and inhaled a deep breath before looking around at the wounded ex-wing of the centre. The point of entry for the Navy was obvious – a large hole in the west-side wall. "I can contact 7-Zark-7 to cease the retreat of the facility, but I know we were readying to move into warmer waters tomorrow anyway. I suppose they're heading for the South-Western Australian waters now instead."

"If you could do that," he muttered gruffly, "I'd appreciate it."

She dipped her ear to her shoulder and lightly giggled. "Of course." She let her eyes slide to the attractive medic. "And now, to make me an official Naval recruit."

His bows rose and he followed behind her. "Sure. But aren't you guys already Navy?"

She laughed. "We do wear the bell-bottom pants …"

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The bridge of a nuclear submarine was far different to the bridge of the Phoenix. Room in a Submarine was definitely limited, and with so many personnel required to man such a myriad of control panels, every single move she made was preceded by a shy "excuse me". She marvelled at how flawlessly each member of the crew functioned in such confined quarters.

One would not want to suffer from claustrophobia when assigned to a Naval submarine.

Her request to 7-Zark-7 was immediately granted. She gave a short briefing about her current situation and her new allegiance with the US Naval Corps, and assured him that she would be returned within a couple of hours. Naturally she assumed the appropriate information would be passed along to her commander, so she didn't feel the need to contact him via com-link.

She was having a light-hearted time with the boys of the water, anyhow. The medic, a young man named Bill Weston II, aka Sgt. Weston, had become her official tour-guide. He'd taken her throughout the large vessel, arranged impromptu photo shoots with recruits and made sure she got the opportunity to sample the culinary fares of the Navy's best chef.

The two hours seemed like a handful of minutes. She was disappointed when she heard over the intercom that they'd arrived at the dry-dock and were preparing to "board" the research facility.

Weston boldly put an arm across her shoulders when he saw her pout of disappointment. "Tempted to switch uniforms, Princess?"

Her pursed lips tightened to hide a smile as she turned her head to meet his eyes. "That would be like jumping from the frying pan and into the fire."

His brow flicked. "You think life and service in the Navy is harder than G-Force?"

She gave a giggle and walked a fast step forward to escape his hold. She gave a small spin to walk backwards. "With G-Force, I only have four guys to control." With that she turned, flicked her hip to one side and glanced back over her shoulder to invite him to follow.

He did so with a low-headed chuckle and shake of his head. "So, Princess. Question."

She dropped her pace and allowed his to casually catch up to her. "Shoot."

"You and the Commander …"

She sighed deeply at his unfinished question. "I wish I knew the answer to that myself. There are times I feel it, times I know it, times I'm confused, then times I doubt we're even friends."

Weston nodded. "He sounds rather complicated."

She practically groaned. "You have no idea."

He thrust his hands into his pockets after casually saluting a small group of marines milling around the bunk area. "Judging by your conversation over the video-link, I'd say that your feelings are mutual. The female members of the communications and surveillance teams all swooned and ahhed then he told you he loved you."

Her single-breathed laugh was full of contempt. "I'd like to express my extreme discomfort in the fact your teams hacked into and were privy to what was essentially a private conversation."

"You're dodging the topic, and we had express permission to eavesdrop on any and all transmissions coming from inside the Centre Neptune compound."

The tone of their conversation had darkened somewhat, and Princess was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with it. "I'll let your Commander explain all of that to Chief Anderson when we meet in the dock. As for Mark and I …" she sighed and hugged herself, keeping her eyes to the floor. "He said what he did because he thought I was going to die. As soon as we see each other he'll revert straight back to business." She let her eyes rise to a saluting marine. "He always does."

Weston gently cupped her elbow with his hand in order to coax her into stopping her walk. "Princess." He inhaled a long breath. "I'm going to tell you this as a new friend in your life."

Cheekiness made her flick her eyes coyly to him. "Who said we were friends?"

That brought a smile to his uneasy expression. "Hey. You and me," he swept his hands between them to indicate the two of them. "We've been through something."

She laughed but said nothing, instead choosing to let him continue.

"Hey, I was part of the team that saved your life."

"Which makes you my hero," she purred playfully.

His brow flicked, thankful to have the conversation return to friendliness. "Which means I get a kiss."

At Weston tilting his head to invite her lips to his cheek, Princess let out a giggle. "My, my. Aren't we all upfront and self-assured."

He tapped his fingertip on his cheek. "I'm waiting."

She groaned inside a smile, rolled up onto her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek. "Thank you," she said honestly. "Even though you insisted," she added with a mock scowl.

He gave her a wink and set his hand on her lower back to guide her toward the door. "Sometimes you really need to go out there and get what you want."

"Why do I get the feeling that _that_, and what you're about to say, relate to the relationship between Mark and myself?"

"Because it is," he smirked as he led her to the thin-railed steps to lead them to the surface. He watched her climb and followed closely behind her. "You're both at a stalemate right now. One of you needs to take the initiative and make the next move. Think of it like you're in the middle of battle …"

She groaned and raised her hand to ask him to stop as his head poked up through the large hatch to join her on the surface. "If you're going to use combat analogies, save it for my Commander. He'll get more out of it than I will."

He dusted himself off and fell in beside her as they took a temporary catwalk toward the base dock. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of the looming Phoenix in her cradle beside the Submarine, but quickly caught himself. "Princess, take it from a guy. We do appreciate it when the girl takes the initiative – we're not all about asking the girl and forcing her to wait for our useless and clueless asses to get it."

She smiled and blew out a breath as her head lightly tilted side to side in a slow shake. "And if he doesn't want it, Bill? He's my Commander, if he rejects me then it'll strain our working relationship…"

"God, that is a bad excuse."

She stopped behind the Naval Commander, who was shaking hands with Security Chief Anderson, and slumped a little. Her voice lowered a few decibels so as not to interrupt the obviously important discussion between force heads. "Give me some time to draft you up a report and I'll outline all …"

"He wants it as much as you do," he interrupted in a harsh whisper. "Roll the dice, Princess."

"But…"

"You're the Swan. Prove why."

She opened her mouth to protest but instead gasped as she felt the rough grazing of something in her hand. She looked down to see Weston shoving her sprig of Mistletoe into her hand. "As fas as I recall the Swan hasn't failed a mission yet," he whispered into her ear through the side of his mouth as he attempted to make it look as though he was maintaining a respectable attention behind his unit leader. "Don't start now."

Her eyes locked on the damaged, but still lively sprig of white and green. "What, here?"

"Now."

"You're kidding me?"

He heard the chiding grunt of his Lieutenant Commander beside him in warning and straightened his stance to something more acceptably military. His lips curled into a smile and he winked to tell her he was serious.

"Good God," she moaned painfully as she wiped the back of her hand across her brow. She quickly turned her attention to Anderson as the officers in front of her parted to allow him to see her.

"Hi Chief," she chirped with a wide smile. "I made some new friends today."

His stoic and usually inexpressive face broke into a relieved smile. "Glad you're okay, Princess."

"Hey," she winked. "Just another day at the office."

"You did good," he said softly as his eyes scanned her for any sign of injury. "You saved a lot of people today."

"And then got saved myself." She hooked her arm through Weston's and dragged him from the small group of officers at the end of the catwalk. "I think these boys need a drink and some Christmas fare. They are after all my heroes."

Anderson frowned, but nodded in reluctant agreement. "Which is something we do need to discuss, Commander," he said gravely as he cast his gaze to Jenkins. "As grateful as I am for you rescuing my Swan, I am equally concerned as to how you intercepted the information as to her whereabouts and peril."

Princess pursed her lips and watched the beginnings of a long, long discussion play out before her. She rolled her eyes and leaned in to Weston to make a comment similar to one she might have made to Jason, but paused when she saw someone in familiar white jeans and red shirt skid on socked feet into the dock doorway. She let her eyes fall on a yellow vinyl #1 on the heaving chest of its wearer and bit her lip.

"Bill …" Her voice seemed suddenly strained. "I can't."

Weston was out of formation after being dragged into the open by Princess. He could no longer maintain the stiff attention required my military code in front of superiors and prayed that he would not receive reprimand for falling into an "at ease" demeanour. He hid his discomfort well as his eyes looked at the G-Force Commander, who stood frozen in the doorway.

"You might not have to," he tried softly, fearing that at any moment, the Eagle might break his position and rush the young woman.

Mark didn't move, however, not beyond wiping a hand down his face and blinking as if not believing the image before him.

"Come on, Princess," Weston muttered. "Do something, say something."

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip and she cleared her throat before she took a tentative step forward. Her head tilted innocently to her shoulder as her lips spread into a smile. "Hi Commander."

That seemed to reach the young Commander. His body gave a curt shake and he stepped quickly up to her.

"Princess," he seemed to breathe as his eyes scanned her form. He took in that she was wearing a pair of coveralls that were the base uniform for a full Navy flight suit, and looked down at her fluffy slippered feet. "It's good to have you back."

Without missing a beat his eyes rose to the Navy medic. He extended his hand in greeting and thanks. His voice turned official, political. "Are you the Commander of the team I need to thank for the safe return of my third?"

Weston's eyes flared momentarily, but he accepted the offered shake of the hand and made sure to have as firm a grip as possible as if to win some form of unspoken pissing contest between guys. "Sergeant Weston of the United States Navy. My Commander is with Security Chief Anderson, and is the individual you need to thank."

Mark gave a nod, but didn't make to move toward the group only a handful of feet away. He looked in Anderson's direction, but aimed his words at Weston. "Thank you for bringing her home. She means a lot to us."

"Uh," he shrugged with a single brow raised. "Yeah. Merry Christmas?"

Mark let his eyes slide back to Weston and he gave him a friendly nod. "To you too, Sergeant." He then crossed his arms against his chest and looked through his brows at the conversation going on a short distance away. "I should go and join that discussion," he said softly.

Princess let out the smallest whimper of disappointment and rolled her eyes to the ceiling before tilting her head to Weston in an "I told you so" manner.

"Straight to business," she said softly, "as if nothing happened."

Weston's lips pursed to one side and he shook his head. "Do it," he urged, nudging her with his shoulder as he nodded in Mark's direction.

She stiffened, her eyes widening in time with a backward shift of her head that suggested she was attempting to close in to herself. "Now?"

He nodded urgently, somewhat aware that a distracted Eagle Leader was for the most part ignoring them. "Use that plant and finish your mission, Princess."

She inhaled hard, looked down at the plant, and up at Mark.

Her voice was apprehensive.

"Um, Commander?"

Mark turned quickly at the sound of his name and tilted his head at her. "Yes, Princess?"

Timidly she tilted her head down to one shoulder, slouched on one hip and shyly raised the small sprig of Mistletoe to above her head. "It's my last chance," she said quietly, pursing her lips as if to kiss the air before averting her eyes from his hardening stare.

His answer was fast, cold, and flat. "You're kidding me, right?"

The response made her gasp. In a move so swift it sounded through the air, her arm fell to the side almost, but not quite, dropping the broken sprig to the floor. "I … I …"

The tears in her voice were obvious. Every man in the room silenced in shock, including those deep inside a tactical conversation. Mark ignored the sudden change of atmosphere in the room, instead keeping his attention on a slowly wilting Swan in Navy-issue coveralls – and pink fluffy slippers.

"No." he growled low as he began a stalk toward her. "No. No. No."

Princess was ready to break. She was humiliated, tired and, quite frankly, terrified of the man stalking toward her. To her credit, however, she remained steady on her feet and refused to back away.

"There's no need to be like that, Commander," she breathed shakily in reaction. "It's just a tradition I thought …"

His hand snapped up into a stop position as he reached her, snatched the Mistletoe from her fingers and squashed it inside his hand. "This," he snarled. "This tradition is over!" He punctuated his order by tossing the flower to the floor beside him. "Done. No more. Finished."

She gasped, her mouth taking in his breath as he exhaled. "I …"

Anderson's unimpressed voice growled across the room. "Commander!" The shock in his tone at the Commander's actions toward Princess was obvious.

Weston dared move a single step forward to put himself between the Swan and Eagle; a protective measure, one that Princess quickly brushed off with a soft. "Don't. It's okay."

Mark ignored it all. He slowly lowered his head to the sprig and let out a long, long breath. When his eyes rose to meet hers, they were pinking, glistening and terrified.

His arm dropped to point at the flower on the floor. "That thing," he said brokenly. "That almost took you from me."

Princess' eyes blinked and widened sharply. Her head angled to one side as she studied the pained look in his face. "No, Mark. The Mistletoe wasn't responsible." She took a breath. "I was."

"If it wasn't for the Mistletoe," he argued softly. "You'd never have come looking for me, would never have lost track, ended up…"

"If I didn't love you," she sniffed in correction, leaving the remainder of the sentence open and unspoken. "But I can't go blaming you, a plant, the explosives teams or anyone. Noone but me, Mark. This is my fault."

He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again in defeat. As usual Princess was the rational mind. He made do with a nod as he lifted his hand to her face and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "I didn't want to do this with an audience, Princess."

She leaned in to his touch and covered his hand with hers. "We have had one all along."

He nodded and watched her face closely as she nestled her cheek into his hand. "I know."

She opened her eyes and let out a gasp when she felt his other hand trace along her side and down to her hip. She felt somewhat unnerved by the intensity in his gaze, and managed to only utter the most inappropriate and stupid remark her brain could conjure.

"You didn't have to take it out on an innocent little plant, you know. I only wanted a kiss."

He gave her a short tug to pull her close to him and took in a whisper of her stunned exhale. His forehead touched hers. "All you had to do was ask."

She raised her head to touch her nose to his. "Kiss me, Mark."

"Say please," he whispered.

"Please kiss me."

Before the extension of the last word could leave her lips, he inhaled it with a gentle claim of her mouth. The kiss was no more than skin against skin, dry lips over moistened glossed lips, but it lingered, held and then parted with a longing smack that drew each others lips outward as if unwilling to separate.

Princess whimpered and found her head involuntarily following his. "Mark …" The extension of the "k" sound at the end of his name drew on in an unasked request for more.

He smiled at it as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Anything more than that, Prin, I'll have to charge the spectators for."

She reddened, fell into his chest and peeked across his shoulder at wide-eyes and gaping mouths. "I forgot about them."

His arms circled her shoulders to pull her close. His voice was a low chuckle when he addressed Weston, who was smirking in approval. "Thanks, Sergeant."

"For what?" he questioned coyly as his arms found their place across his chest.

"For this," Mark said softly as his head nodded singly to indicate the woman in his arms. "Beyond bringing her home, I know you were the one who pushed her into this."

Weston shrugged. "I'm a guy. I know what you needed."

Princess giggled against Mark's chest. "Which scares me."

Both men looked at her, puzzled by the comment. "Huh?"

She shrugged and tightened her hold around her man. "Never mind."

Silence succeeded the Swan's comment for a good thirty seconds before the murmurs of conversations paused began to build again. Mark felt the energy in the room rise again and used the vibe to stoop slightly, grab Princess around her waist and stand tall again to lift her from the floor. He loudly breathed her name, not hiding the sense of relief and affection in his voice.

"It's good to have you back."

Jason's voice sounded in a confused tone from behind Mark. "You went somewhere, Prin?"

Her breath came in hard as she looked over Mark's shoulder at a scruffy, barely awake, grumpy, in need of coffee Condor. "I had a little adventure."

Jason yawned, scratched at his rump and raised a brow at the current position of two G-Forcers who weren't usually so physically close. "Must've been a good one, Kiddo. You've got the damn Navy here and are wrapped around the Skipper as though you've been gone a year."

"It felt like it," Mark replied on a breath.

He flicked a finger between Mark and Princess. "Did I miss something?"

Princess wriggled from Mark's hold and touched her feet back to the floor. She kept one arm around his neck and toyed with his collar. She didn't look up at Jason as she answered his question.

"Nothing important."

"No," Mark added. "Just the Eagle and Swan finally admitting …"

Jason grunted and raised his hand to ask them to stop. "Okay. Recovering from a Christmas Eve party at the track last night. I don't need sugar, spice or anything deemed nice right now."

"Have you even been to bed yet?" Mark questioned with a raised brow.

He shook his head. "Nah. Heading that way now before the kid wakes up and drags me to the Christmas tree." He lowered his voice a decibel or two. "So if we be really, really quiet, he might actually sleep in beyond the crack of dawn."

Princess stretched her back, but did not relinquish her hold of Mark. "Mmm," she hummed. "Bed sounds really good right now."

"Uhuh," Mark answered with an open-mouthed hum of his own. "So. Uh. Yours, or mine?"

She gasped in total embarrassment and immediately covered her mouth with her hands. "Mark!"

Jason, however, let out a long groan of disgust. "And it begins."

"What?" Mark asked innocently.

"The sudden change from boy-scout to the "I'm getting' it" boy." He dismissively waved a hand at him. "Do me a favour and don't. I really don't need the mental image …" he paused and let his eyes scan the length of Princess' legs. "Although …"

Princess caught the look, switched her gaze to Mark, then groaned and pulled away from him. "Both of you … God."

Their response was spoken simultaneously. "We're men, what do you expect?"

She looked at Weston, who shrugged and shook his head with a smile of agreement. "Can't live without us, Swannie."

She mock rolled her eyes and gave the Naval Sergeant a strong hug and kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, you know. For everything."

"You owe me," he winked playfully.

She felt Mark tug on her fingers and found herself stumbling gracefully toward him. She wiggled her fingers at the Sergeant in a fatally girlie manner. "Call me on it. Bye."

Mark gave him a lazy salute of thanks and gave his head a quick tilt of his head toward Princess' outfit. "Uh, can she keep that?"

Again Jason groaned. "TMI. Jesus."

Weston chuckled and gave Mark a nod. "Yeah, she can have it, but you need to add the accessories."

Jason rolled his eyes and stooped to pick up a small, wilted sprig of discarded Mistletoe. "Hey, Princess, wait up."

Mark and Princess, wrapped around each other, paused on their way to the exit. Princess tilted her head at Jason's approach. "What's up?"

He smiled and raised his hand above her head as he leaned in and planted a Jack Daniels stained kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Princess," he purred before pulling away.

She looked up and saw the Mistletoe dangling from his fingers. "Oh, my." She giggled as he lowered it, took her hand and gingerly placed it into her palm.

"My favourite Christmas tradition."

She looked down at the damaged little plant that started the whole ordeal. With a smile and the knowledge that without the drama she wouldn't be in the arms of the one she loved, she closed her fingers around it and held it at her heart.

"Mine too, Jason."

"Yeah," he yawned. "What's Christmas without Mistletoe and Kisses?"


End file.
